Question:

I am Ashkenazi (Jew of Eastern European descent), and my wife is Sefardi (an Oriental Jew). She grew up eating rice on Pesach, which my family custom would never allow. Every Pesach we have the same discussion: how can it be that one group of Jews can eat rice on Pesach and another group can’t? Aren’t we all the same religion? Isn’t this an example of how the Torah can be interpreted in so many ways, and there is no one true Judaism?

Answer:

Actually, when you compare the way Ashkenazi and Sefardi Jews celebrate Pesach, you will be astounded not by the differences, but by the similarities. The discrepancies are so minor and external that they just prove the rule – we are one people with one Torah.

Jews are forbidden by the Torah to eat or even own leavened products on Pesach. This means any product made from the five grains (wheat, barley, spelt, rye, oats), other than Matzah, cannot be eaten or in your possession for the eight days of Passover. The Jews of Eastern Europe took on an extra stringency, and forbade rice and several other foods on Pesach. Although rice is not one of the five grains, it was often grown together with wheat, and the two could become intermingled. Also, rice can be ground into flour and then confused with wheat flour. For these reasons rice was not eaten on Pesach by European Jews.

The Jews of the Orient however did not take on this custom. Perhaps the conditions of growing and storing those products in their lands did not warrant this extra precaution. This means that the Seder menu of a Jewish family from Morocco or Yemen will vastly differ from the fare served at a table of German or Hungarian Jews. The former will eat rice, peas, beans and corn, the latter will not.

But that’s just the menu. If you look at every other aspect of the Seder, they are almost identical from one community to another. To illustrate this, imagine the following mind experiment:

Take a 9^th century Persian Jew, and transport him through time and space to 19^th century Poland. After traversing the globe and jumping a thousand years forward, he arrives in a time and a land that are totally foreign to him. He walks the streets in a daze, completely lost and out of place.

But take him to a Seder, and he would feel completely at home. His host family may look different in colour and dress to his own, they may eat Ashkenazi foods that are unfamiliar to his Sefardi palate, but the Seder itself would be exactly the same as his family Seder back home. He would hear the children ask the same four questions that his own children ask him. He would eat the same Matzah and bitter herbs, drink the same four cups of wine, read the same prayers and biblical quotes. Even the songs, while sung to different tunes, would have the same Hebrew lyrics.

Most importantly, he would hear the exact same story, the story every Jewish family has told every year for over three thousand years, the story of our common ancestors who were slaves in Egypt until G-d set them free.

This is nothing short of amazing. Two thousand years of exile has not weakened our inner connection. Dispersal across the globe has not loosened our bonds of shared history and united destiny. With all the fragmentation and factionalism that we all complain about, we are still one people. This is felt at Pesach more than ever.

Rather than focusing on the superficial disparities between communities, look at our internal connection. We are all telling the same story. G-d took us out of Egypt to make us one nation, united by the Torah, our common history and our common goal. Some eat rice, some don’t, and it matters not. We are one family, the children of Israel.

All the best,

Rabbi Moss

Question: 

What does Jewish law say about a woman taking a man’s surname after marriage? Some girls nowadays refuse to change their name to the man’s. Not sure if the man really cares, or if he has a say, but I wanted the Jewish take on it.

Answer:

Family names are a recent thing for Jews. For most of our history we used first names only. You were called by your own name, the son or daughter of your father’s or mother’s name, like Rachel the daughter of David.

Surnames were formally forced upon us in Europe about 200 years ago. And so the tailor’s family name became Schneider, which means tailor, and the short guy took on the name Klein, and David’s children became the Davidovitzes.

For the most part Jewish law did not utilise these names, and so the question of keeping a maiden name after marriage was never discussed by the rabbis. This was a question of secular law, not Jewish. But even where there is no Jewish law, there is a Jewish attitude.

Getting married means creating a oneness out of two people. Having a family means extending that oneness to our children. The Torah says that husband and wife become one flesh, and our children are the tangible expression of that oneness.

 It would seem apt that this unity should be reflected in the family name. If the husband has one surname, the wife another, and then the kids perhaps a third, this does not reflect the togetherness and unity that a family structure is supposed to represent.

Of course one option is to hyphenate. But for the next generation this will lead to absurdity: if Joseph Cohen-Brown marries Josephine Jones-Levy, will they become the Cohen-Brown-Jones-Levys?

Keeping a uniform system is the best way to avoid conflict. And so there is reason to say that the husband’s name should be taken. In Jewish law, soul identity follows the mother, but tribal affiliation follows the male line. A surname, which identifies which clan you belong to, would logically go after the male.

For someone to give up their name can be challenging. It can feel like giving up a part of their identity. But if that’s what it takes to create a sense of family unity, it is a small ask. After all, starting a family will require many more selfless sacrifices for the greater good of others. That’s the challenge of family life, and that’s its beauty.

All the best

Rabbi Moss

Question:

If I ever want to find a wife, I think I have to leave town. I know all the Jewish girls here from school days, and none of them interest me. I don’t go to synagogue to meet people, because I was never very into Judaism. But I do go to parties, and see the same old faces every time. What can I do if I already know everyone?

Answer:

 You remind me of the guy who was walking down the street and saw a familiar face. “You’re Mark, aren’t you? Remember me? We went to kindergarten together!”

 “My name isn’t Mark”, was the response.

 “Listen, I haven’t seen you in thirty years, but you look exactly the same. Are you sure you’re not Mark?”

“I don’t know you.”

He couldn’t believe someone could look so much like Mark but not be Mark. Then it dawned on him. If that was Mark, he would have grown up too…

People change. The fact that you knew someone ten years ago has little relevance to today. You are not the same person today as you were when you were sixteen, and you wouldn’t appreciate people seeing you now as you were then. Well, everyone else has grown up too.

And you can’t always rely on your views from back then either. As you develop, you may find the friends of your youth have little in common with you, while you may have become more aligned with the very people you used to avoid. The things that excited you ten years ago are not the things that still excite you now. Otherwise we would all be firemen and ballet dancers.

Just as we mature, so must our view of the world around us. We have to be ready to drop outdated opinions, and take a fresh look around us.Another example of this is our view of Judaism. There are many people who hold on to a negative view of Judaism developed in their youth. This may have been based on bad experiences - a boring Hebrew teacher, a hypocritical rabbi, or a mean religious relative. Or we may simply have not enjoyed studying Torah and going to shule, it just didn’t grab us, or it felt like a burden forced upon us by our parents when other kids were having fun. So at some point we opted out of Jewish life. That may have seemed like the right reaction at the time. But that doesn’t mean it is still right.

As a mature person, we can re-engage with Judaism from a whole new angle. We can come to realise that bad experiences of the past can be left in the past, and individuals don’t necessarily represent the whole. What seemed irrelevant and uninteresting then may be inspiring and uplifting now. The view of Judaism we developed at age twelve is probably due for a review. As a mature person, we may realise there really is something there for us.

So when you see an old face, don’t forget that they grew up too. Meet them as the person they are now, not the way you remember them. And approach Judaism in the same way. You can revisit it, like an old acquaintance that you never really appreciated. Who knows, you might just fall in love.

All the best

Rabbi Moss

Question:

I have always felt an affinity to Queen Esther from the Purim story. Just like me, she married a non-Jew. And because of it she saved the Jewish people. Isn’t the message that intermarriage can be good for the Jews?

Answer:

Esther is a tragic hero. Unlike many people’s misconception, she was not happy to be queen. She was dragged away from her family and people, against her will, and forced to marry a grotesque and uncouth tyrant, the king of Persia, Achashverosh.

This was no romantic courtship. Having executed his previous queen for not obeying his wishes, Achashverosh ordered that every woman in the kingdom present herself before him. Esther, a sweet Jewish girl, was deemed the most beautiful candidate, and so she was taken to the king’s palace. She had no choice – to resist meant death.

When an evil decree was made to annihilate the Jewish nation throughout the kingdom, Esther used her position to beg for the salvation of her people. She succeeded, but there was no happy ending for her. The Jews celebrated their victory in the streets, but Esther was stuck in the palace. She remained chained to her despotic husband till the end.

Esther is not a model of intermarriage. You can’t compare her forced marriage to yours. But if you would like to take a lesson from Esther’s life, perhaps it is this: Being married to a non-Jew in no way diminishes your responsibility to your people. Esther’s marital situation was never used as an excuse for her to weaken her ties to Judaism.

A Jew, no matter how far they think they have strayed, remains a Jew. All the tasks and obligations expected of a Jew apply to you. The fact that you don’t observe one law – the law forbidding intermarriage – does not exempt you from observing all the others.

Intermarriage is never good for the Jews. Esther was good for the Jews, because she never gave up her Jewishness. Neither should you.

All the best,

Rabbi Moss

A lively Shabbos service filled with song and inspiration. Easy to follow and welcoming atmosphere. Followed by Kiddush.  6:30pm to 7:15pm every week. (Mincha 10 mins after candle lighting) at Nefesh, 54 Roscoe St Bondi Beach

A lively and easy to follow Shabbos morning service with Rabbi Moss, followed by a Kiddush. Kids program during the service. 10am – 12:20pm at Nefesh, 54 Roscoe St Bondi Beach